Who's the Boss?

Before moving to New York, I had never been called "boss" by anyone. Admittedly, this was before I ever had a full-time job, so nobody had any reason to call me "boss." But at bodegas, delis, and streetcarts, I find myself being called "boss" all the time.

Most notably, every time I get lunch from the falafel cart downstairs from my office, I am called "boss":

"How's it going, boss?"

"What would you like, boss?"

"Here you go, boss."

"Have a good one, boss."

Why am I the boss? You run the cart, you're the boss of yourself. I suppose it's an expression of respect for your customers, but you tell me how much to pay, and I pay you. I never boss you around. Quite often, you put hot sauce on my platter when I only want white sauce. You call the shots, not me.

In fact, since I've never been in a hiring situation, I've never known anyone who could possibly call me "boss." You can't mistake me for any boss, really. I may be Italian, but I don't bear a resemblance to John Gotti. I'm not a giant green lizard hovering on a bridge over lava, like Bowser. I've never said, "yeeah, if you could go ahead and get me a gyro platter, that would be grreat." And I don't believe I ever ran Tammany Hall in the 1860s.

I've been told I look like Tony Danza, so maybe that could be it. But I'm no "boss." Maybe next time I'll greet Falafel Cart Guy by saying, "yo, Angela!"

2 Moments of Idiocy:

Anonymous rebecca said...


7:56 PM  
Anonymous Joy said...

You were at Tammany, liar pants, I totally saw you there ;-)

11:23 AM  

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